


The Token

by bittenfeld



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bonding, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4158120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to “A Mystic Bond of Brotherhood” and “Triune”.  Back on Earth, the Enterprise crew enjoys a well-deserved shore-leave, giving Kirk and Spock time for a well-deserved honeymoon…</p><p>Final – Chapter 3:  A helpless moan sighed from Kirk’s lips.  “Spock… oh, Captain… do you think this is very decorous conduct as befitting your rank?”<br/>Vulcan lips molested a small rounded human ear.  “It is difficult to maintain decorum when one’s commanding officer is also one’s bondmate, Admiral.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The secretary / typist / all-round-gofer poked her head around the corner and addressed a roomful of stuff. “Line two, Admiral.”

From behind a clutter of papers, files, boxes, and other assorted official paraphernalia stacked higher than it ought to be, Jim Kirk peeped out and managed as much of a smile as he could. “Uh, thanks, Millie.”

Millie returned the smirk. “Be brave, Admiral, it’s only for another week.”

“Yeah,” Kirk agreed, pushing another stack of Departmental memos out of the way to get to his comm-unit. “And then, thank god, I get to ship out again.”

“Lucky you,” she retorted, disappearing from his office doorway.

He activated line two, and the comm-screen lit with a welcome Vulcan face looking more cool and collected than Kirk felt after a day like today. “Hi, Spock,” he greeted, spirits revived a little by the sight of his bondmate. “You ready to go home now?”

“Shortly,” Spock replied. “I have requested a conference with one of my students who has been exhibiting some difficulty preparing his thesis. I shall be home at approximately eighteen-thirty.”

“Well, don’t forget we’re expected at the McCoys’ at nineteen-hundred. Don’t be too late.”

“I shall not.”

Kirk shrugged and smiled. He had hoped they would have a few minutes in bed together before going up to Bones’ and Maggie’s place for dinner. Well, bed would have to wait until later. “Sure,” he agreed. “See you at home, eighteen-thirty, then. I’ve got a ton of last-minute paper-work anyway before next week’s launch. Seems Commander Morrow isn’t satisfied with just using my office as a supply closet while he takes it upon himself to re-decorate Headquarters – he also expects me to re-write every one of his memos and sign them for him before we leave. I’m surprised I haven’t seen one yet detailing new requisition regs for toilet paper in the officers’ lounge.”

“My sympathies, Jim,” Spock consoled, not very sympathetically. “I trust that _you_ will not be late getting home?”

“Count on it,” Kirk assured. “I’m cutting out of here as soon as I can without being seen – before Morrow thinks up some more last-minute requests.”

“Then I wish you good luck.”

“Thanks, Spock. Kirk out.” He shut down the link.

His secretary peeked in again, another file in her hand. “Uh, Admiral, sir, you were looking for the TP requisition regs?”

Kirk glared glumly. “Not funny, Millicent.”

“Sorry sir,” she grinned, no more apologetic than Spock had been sympathetic. “Actually it’s my leave request. I’m due for vacation before you get back, so I’d appreciate it if you could sign it before you go.”

He reached for the file. “Sure. In fact, I’ll even authorize an additional week, if you’ll find a way to keep Morrow out of my hair for the next two days.”

“No problem, sir. I’ll keep the admiral busy until you’re light-years away from here.”

“Thanks, Millie. You don’t know how much I’ve appreciated you guarding my office door all these years.”

“Sure I do, Admiral. The bonus credits in my pay remind me every month.”

Kirk grinned after her as she left. She was worth every extra credit he added to her salary.  
* * * * *

Maggie McCoy greeted them at the door, brown eyes bright with happiness. “Spock! Jim! How good it is to see you again! Come in, come in. Dinner’s almost ready. Oh, look at you both! How are you feeling?”

“Fine, just fine.” Kirk smiled warmly, reaching for her hands, as he and Spock entered the McCoys’ living room. “Oh, Maggie, you look superb. You must be living right.” He leaned forward and she met his kiss, a warm kiss of long friendship.

“Well, most of the time, anyway,” she rejoined, still squeezing his fingers, then turned her bright smile toward her husband emerging from the kitchen. “Leonard says it isn’t healthy to live right all the time.”

“I never said that,” McCoy protested, setting a tray of drinks on the coffee table.

“Yes you did, darling, you just forgot.”

Kirk shot a totally innocuous glance toward his chief medical officer. “Forgetfulness is a sign of old age… darling.”

“You watch it,” McCoy grumbled, “or the next time you’re on the table to be sewn up, I might just ‘forget’ to use anaesthesia.”

Kirk’s playful gaze returned to the slender woman with short grey-streaked curls, while indicating the doctor by a nod to the side. “Tell me, Maggie, is he always so charming to his dinner guests?”

“Oh, you should see him on a bad day,” she admitted to Kirk, but her twinkling eyes were on her husband.

“Believe me, I have.”

McCoy hmphed. “I don’t get any more respect from my wife than I do from my fellow officers.”

Maggie planted a tiny kiss on his cheek. “That’s because we all know you so well, dear.” Then turning to the second visitor, she greeted, “Hello, Spock, how are you? I’m so happy to see you again. You don’t know how much I’ve enjoyed recalling some of our discussions from last year.”

“I enjoyed them greatly as well,” Spock acknowledged. With regard toward his Vulcan propriety, Maggie hadn't reached for him as she had for Kirk; With regard toward her sentiments, Spock took both her hands in his, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’m looking forward to many more exchanges this season. I trust your writing is proceeding on schedule?”

“Yes, I just published another article in the University’s graduate metaphysics journal. Maybe you’d like to read it tonight?”

“I should like to very much.”

“Hey, hey,” Kirk interrupted, and snuck in an extra kiss. “No heavy discussions until after dinner.”

“Hey, that’s my wife you’re kissing,” McCoy protested from the sofa.

Kirk was looking her over again with the fond warmth of old acquaintance, her mature figure dressed in a short blue skirt and frilly white blouse. “She’s only your wife because you met her before I did, and then married her before I had a chance to offer you any competition. Maggie, you really do look wonderful, as always. And you don’t look a day over thirty-five.”

She smiled. “Thirty-five was a lot of years ago, Jim – for all of us – but as long as you keep lying like that, you’re welcome in this house any time.”

Spock chimed in, face impassive as always, “Of course, our good doctor doesn’t look a day over seventy-eight…”

“Very funny, Spock,” the good doctor riposted. “One more remark like that, and you’re gonna regret it the next time I perform your annual physical.”

“Uh, Spock,” Kirk suggested sotto voce, strolling over to the couch, “maybe we better do as he says. I’ve always suspected that our good doctor was really a sadist at heart.”

“I have been keenly aware of that fact for twenty-eight years,” Spock noted.

McCoy served the drinks. “Yeah, well, I’ve always been curious how two escapees from the Federation funny farm ever made it into ‘Fleet High Command.”

“Leonard,” Maggie interrupted any further retort, “would you please check the casserole? It should be just about ready to come out now. And take a taste – it might need a bit more salt.”

“All right, all right. You treat me like a slave, you know.”

Kirk’s comment followed the doctor into the kitchen. “And we all know you love it, Bones.”

“Hey, and don’t you go kissing my wife anymore while I’m out of the room. You’ve already gotten all the welcome you deserve.”

“Whatever you say,” Kirk acquiesced. “I’ll just save the rest of my kisses for you, then… Leonard.”

“God forbid,” drawled a fervent prayer from the kitchen.

Spock's proffered hand to Maggie urged her to sit on the couch between him and Kirk, then Kirk took a glass of wine from the drink tray for her.

“Thanks, Jim,” she said. Then leaning back, she smiled at Spock. “So tell me, Spock, how are your parents? I got a lovely letter from Amanda about six months ago. I hope she’s still well, and your father…?”

“My father is very well, and Mother is feeling fine. Father’s present teaching assignment at the Academy will conclude in two months and twenty-three days, at which time he will be returning to the Embassy here on Earth. Mother has expressed the possibility that she may be accompanying him this time. She hasn’t been back to Earth in ten years.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Spock. Yes, it has been at least ten years since she and I actually got a chance to chat in person. And be sure to tell them that they’re perfectly welcome to stay here with me. In fact, I’d welcome the company, since Leonard and you all will be gone by then on the Enterprise’s next tour of duty.”

“I shall. And Father said to tell you, should you ever wish to come to Vulcan for a length of time, he’s sure he could procure an instructorship for you at the Academy. The faculty is quite impressed with your publications.”

“Well, that does sound interesting. I’ll certainly have to discuss it with him, when they’re here.”

A call came from the kitchen. “Okay, people, dinner is served.”

Kirk stood, offered his elbow with a smile. “Shall we, milady?”

She accepted his escort. “We shall, Admiral.”

McCoy poured the wine at the table, hesitating at Maggie’s chair to touch a little kiss to the tip of her nose, then moved over to Spock's seat.

Spock raised a quick protesting hand. “The, uh, wine service alone will be sufficient, thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” the wine steward assured. “I never kiss anyone as ugly as you. Shame to waste a perfectly good kiss.”

“Speaking of kissing,” Maggie interrupted, “you’re both coming to Seanna’s and Scotty’s wedding aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Spock replied.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kirk insisted. “So. It’s finally going to happen. You know, Scotty says they’ve had to postpone it twice already, due to Starfleet’s usual lack of sensitivity when it comes to re-routing people’s plans. I guess it’s been nearly three years since we first heard about the engagement.”

“Well, Leonard and I have certainly learned to live with frequent plan upsets. That just comes with marriage to Starfleet personnel. I hope Scotty and Seanna can accept it as we have. But I’ve also heard that Seanna has just received her own Starfleet commission. Could she perhaps serve aboard the Enterprise with Scotty? I know you have several married couples among your crew, Jim.”

Kirk nodded. “As a matter of fact, I’ve already put in a request to Personnel regarding the possibility of a position for her. It’s good for the morale of the married crew members, I think, to let them serve together. You know, Maggie,” he suggested, “I still say you should put in a request to Starfleet to join us yourself, if even in a civilian position. The Enterprise can always use a good trauma nurse, certainly, and I could personally speed your request through the proper channels.”

“Oh, thank you, Jim, but no,” she declined. “I retired from nursing twelve years ago. Now I’m content with my studies and my writing. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the stamina to put up with everything that a starship crew puts up with.”

“Nonsense,” McCoy countered. “You have more stamina than I do. And ever since Chapel left nursing to pursue her doctorate, I haven’t found a really good head-nurse to replace her.”

A mock look of surprise crossed Maggie’s face. “So that’s why you married me – so you could always be assured of a nurse to assist you.”

McCoy grinned a little devilish smile. “Among other things…”

She deliberately ignored him. “Besides,” she insisted, “I enjoy the position I already hold – as unofficial liaison between the Enterprise’s crew and their Earth-bound families.”

“Well, you’ve been doing it for a lot of years,” Kirk agreed, “and you’ve always been appreciated.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting on the rustic cabin porch, watching Spock split firewood, Kirk smiled to himself. He liked watching Spock work. A satisfaction watching that lean muscular body stripped to the waist. A body that belonged to him now, all to him. After all these years.

The sky was blue. Very blue.

He loved the blackness of outer space, speckled with a zillion points of light (and don’t say ‘a zillion’ in front of Spock, or he might feel compelled to respond with an accurate count), filled with stars and planets, and yet so empty and so vast. And so black.

He loved it, but he supposed it also made him appreciate the blue of Earth’s sky for the three months of every year when he lived planetside. Blue and warm and breezy, and home.

With a groan of pleasure, Kirk rolled over onto his belly on the grassy lake-shore to toast-burn the other half of his anatomy. Early afternoon sun flooded radiation over his bare skin, and it felt so good.

A short distance away he could hear laughter and chatter from the rest of the gang as they scuffled and played and relaxed and fixed lunch and worked out the kinks of ten months of confine­ment. Especially that last month of quarantine and god-awful boredom which had nearly driven a normally well-adjusted starship crew into psychotic cabin-fever.

“I tagged you and you’re dead!” a little voice insisted adamantly. “You’re dead!”

“Am not!” another little voice countered. Kirk recognized that one as belonging to Uhura’s little grandson Danny.

“Yes you are! I blew you up! You can’t get me now!”

“Yes I can!”

Ah, the innocence of childhood: butterfly wings, puppy-dog tails, and blasting your opponent to hell. The scramble of little feet scuffed closer in his direction. He might have to move himself and his towel if he didn’t desire to end up in the middle of a war-zone. But the battle circled him and moved on to the wide-open space toward the far end of the lake where the two warriors could bruta­lize each other in undisturbed peace and quiet.

The lake was no more than a small portion of the Eel River’s south fork, about a hundred feet long, partially dammed at either end, and maybe thirty feet across. The damming slowed the current, creating a calm placid lake. Earlier Kirk had enjoyed an hour or so floating up and down on an air-mattress, until Spock had appropriated the mattress a half-hour ago to experience the same pleasure – a pleasure quite unknown on arid Vulcan.

The far shore of the river rose sharply up the mountain slope. Pine and scrub-juniper grew close to the water’s edge, and several times Kirk had seen a couple of half-wild deer approach to ob­serve the very strange wildlife on the other side of the lake.

Right now the very strange wildlife was playing and relaxing as hard as they could, and gril­ling hot-dogs and hamburgers, and Scotty was simmering a new batch of his chili – the secret ingre­dient of which Kirk would swear was one-hundred-ninety-proof rocket fuel. The pungent aroma overwhelmed pine scent and wildflower perfume.

And the two hyper-active warriors were space-dogging close to his towel-sized portion of the universe once again, closing in at near-warp-eight-speeds.

“I wiped out your whole ship, you Klingon scum!”

“No you didn’t, you Denebian slime-devil!”

So much for instilling honorable Federation goals of inter-galactic peace and love into the im­pressionable minds of the young.

“Come back here and fight like a soldier, Klingon worm!”

“Eat my phaser blast, slime-devil!”

The battle tumbled closer. Kirk had no wish to come between warring factions. Maybe now was an opportune time to beat a quick retreat to the grown-up haven by the picnic tables about twenty feet away.

“Danny! Adrian!” Uhura’s voice called out just in time. “Watch where you’re going. Don’t trip over the admiral. Why don’t you both go back up to the lodge and let Miss Janice and Auntie Maggie know lunch is ready. And ask them for another pitcher of lemonade. And be careful cros­sing the street!”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay, Grandmom.”

And was instantly obeyed. Two pairs of little feet scuffled away across the grass in the direc­tion of the lodge. Kirk had always admired that woman’s matriarchal authority. And she wielded it so well upon Klingon scum and Denebian slime-devils. Not to mention a certain starship bridge crew.

Now adult footsteps approached him and his towel, and a casual Georgia accent greeted, “Hey, Cap’n.”

“Hey yourself, Doc,” Kirk responded, rolling over and sitting up on the towel. “What’s up?”

“Besides Scotty’s chili?” McCoy hunkered down beside his commanding officer, nose wrink­ling at the potent aroma wafting heavy on the light afternoon breeze. “Y’know, I’m surprised he hasn’t offered it to Starfleet as an alternative fuel source. Probably gives off ten times the energy of dilithium crystals.”

“Except the smell would embalm a crew in no time flat,” Kirk countered, “That stuff’s worse than mustard gas.”

“Well then, maybe try it as an anti-Klingon weapon. Bring a few tears to their eyes.”

“Hell, I wouldn’t even wish that stuff on the Klingons. Besides, I’m sure it would violate Federation Directive 191 regarding unnecessary cruelty to enemies.” Kirk looked out across the lake. Sunlight sparkled in quivering reticulate patterns across the gently lapping surface. On the far shore Spock had beached the air-mattress and was now squatted down in the brush, intently studying the riparian flora and fauna.

“Besides Scotty’s chili, what else is up?” Kirk reiterated to his partner beside him.

The doctor was watching Spock across the river, eyes bluer-than-normal set in sun-burned face. “How do you feel now?” he inquired, half-casual, and half-medic. “Does all this relaxation suit you, Admiral?”

Kirk released a quick chuckling breath. “You don’t know how much,” he assured. “God, I thought we’d never survive the last couple of months – and I mean that more than figuratively. How are all your patients faring now that we’re back on terra-firma?”

“Better. Most of them have upgraded. But there’s a few who I’d put in stasis who aren’t do­ing too well. We might lose them even yet.” Renewed stress line McCoy’s face. “That was a hell of a bug that got us. I still wonder where it came from.”

“Yeah,” Kirk agreed. “Hey, listen, I didn’t mean to disturb you. You did a hell of a job keep­ing as many alive as you did.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And now we want to thank you and Maggie for inviting us up here for the week. You know just the right therapy of a very weary starship crew. We really appreciate it.”

“Yeah. I just wish some of the ones in the hospital could be here to appreciate it too.”

“They will be, next time. Listen, what therapy has the physician prescribed for himself? Doctors need relaxation too, you know.”

McCoy was still gazing across the lake at Spock who now sat on an outcropping of granite boulders casually scanning the cluster of the dozen or so humans across from him. “Well,” the doctor suggested, “I was wondering, if you and Spock might like a couple of days away from the rest of the crew, how would you like to come on up to the cabin with me? I thought I’d go up and clean it out, fix it up. Maggie and I haven’t been up there for over a year. Probably some repairs to be made, brush cleared, firewood chopped, that kind of thing. Then maybe you and Spock would like to be alone up there for awhile. Kind of a… delayed honeymoon.”

Kirk shot him a suspicious grinning glance, as if to catch a humorous hidden smile in the doc­tor’s eyes – and he couldn’t be sure if there was one or not – then he agreed, “Sure. Spock and I’ll come. And maybe the rest of the crew will appreciate having command disappear for a few days anyway – give ‘em time to gripe about us.”

Maggie strolled up, reaching out a hand for her husband. “Hey, come on, you two. Lunch is ready.” She waved at Spock across the water, then called to him: “Spock! come back. Time to eat!”

Obligingly Spock climbed off the rocks and launched the air-mattress back toward the party at the picnic tables.  
* * * * *

The bath had felt so good after a long hot day of sweat and dirt, even though Kirk knew that just a quick shower wasn’t quite the same as the hour-long soak in a hot tub which he’d been envisi­oning all day. But if the three of them each indulged in a tub-soak every day, the cabin’s water tank would soon have to be refilled again, and Kirk knew absolutely that he had no desire to lug heavy barrels of water up from the spring again any time soon.

Right now McCoy was getting in his five-minute wash, and then when Spock finished chop­ping that last stack of wood he’d follow McCoy.

The rhythmic crack of the axe outside caught Kirk’s attention. Maybe he’d stroll out and supervise the Vulcan for awhile.

Bourbon glass in hand, he stepped outside onto the front porch and ensconced himself com­fortably in one of the two rocking chairs. Spock was utilizing the axe with efficient precision. Kirk smiled to himself. He liked watching the man work. A satisfaction watching that lean muscular body stripped to the waist. A body that belonged to him now, all to him. After all these years.

A flush of pleasure washed over Kirk. Damn, he felt like a newlywed! – well, he guessed he had a right to, it had just been seven weeks since he and Spock had bonded. Spock's fifty-sixth-year Pon Farr: Kirk had agreed to be his partner in order to save Spock's life. And what better gift to give someone than their life – and then in addition to give one’s own, because Kirk had ultimately offered his own to join in mate-bonding with his closest friend of twenty-eight years. But now the worst was over for another seven years, and Kirk had no regrets – and a lot to look forward to. Damn, he wished he could tell the whole galaxy about the wonderful life-mate that Destiny had chosen to be­stow upon him. But as that wish was not exactly expedient, so far only McCoy and Scotty knew the truth, although Kirk didn’t want to hazard a guess as to how many of the rest of the bridge crew had ascertained it as well.

Spock was almost finished with his stack of wood. It made Kirk’s back and arms ache to watch him. Even though they all stayed in pretty good physical shape on-board ship through daily work-outs, there wasn’t much call for hard manual labor, so Kirk felt every muscle in his body pro­test the load he’d forced himself to work today. In a way, he kind of enjoyed all the aches and pains – he’d certainly earned each one. The three of them had cleared brush all morning, then he and McCoy had patched some broken spots on the roof, while Spock had gathered and chopped wood in the afternoon. There was a pleasure to be had in physical labor, and maybe that was what a certain Ship’s Surgeon had had in mind when he’d made the suggestion in the first place. Grit under the fingernails, sunburned back, and an entire body of protesting muscles.

Spock hadn't burned yet, but then, maybe Vulcans didn’t. Of course, being used to the smo­thering heat of his home planet, he hadn't felt the need to shed his shirt until late in the day, whereas Kirk had managed to lose his within a few hours of starting. Now he had a feeling he’d regret that decision – he could hardly even sit back in his chair.

The cabin door opened and McCoy stepped out, now dressed in loose-fitting light-colored shirt and shorts and sandals. “Hey,” he greeted, stopping to fill his lungs with a deep breath of pine-scent and smoky twilight smell. “So, are you keeping Spock whipped into line?”

Kirk just groaned. “I think somebody whipped _me_ into line today.”

“Pain is good for you.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“You want me to put some anaesthetic on your back? You look cooked.”

Kirk leaned forward, exposing his sunburned flesh. “God yes, if you brought something. I didn’t think you brought any medical supplies along.”

“Now what kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t keep my little black bag within reach at all times?” McCoy retreated back into the two room cabin; reëmerged with a can of anaesthetic which he sprayed all over Kirk’s back and shoulders and chest and arms. The cool numbing mist doused the fire in Kirk’s skin.

“Thank you very much,” the admiral whispered in blessed relief.

McCoy pulled up a little stool between the two old wooden rocking chairs. “You want me to work out some of your sore muscles?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think my burned flesh could take it. Maybe I’ll get Spock to give me a massage when we go to bed – if there’s any part of me that isn’t crisped.”

Lazily Kirk slumped back in his chair, let his gaze wander over the pine and redwood country surrounding the cabin. Between the tops of the trees filtered the last few rays of mountain sunlight from the pale milky twilight sky. Night was already beginning to darken the eastern half of the hea­vens.  Somewhere nearby a blue jay was squawking his territorial rights one more time before set­tling down for the night, and some night animals were joining in the chorus. Kirk wondered if the forest noises would keep him awake tonight. He was used to sleeping with the sounds of ship to lull him to sleep; he wondered how he’d fare with Nature’s own serenade. Although after today’s work-out, and with his bondmate beside him, he was sure he’d be dead-asleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

“Hey, Spock,” McCoy called. “It’s getting dark now. Why don’t you pack it in for now and call it a night. We’ve got all day tomorrow.”

“In just a minute, Doctor,” Spock replied. He split the last log – a good-sized piece of red­wood – then began stacking what he’d just chopped.

“Spock,” Kirk suggested, “bring that last log into the cabin. We can start a fire in a little while, how does that sound?”

“It sounds most pleasant, Admiral. I find the Terran nights quite chilly.”

McCoy was looking up into the fading sky. “Yeah, he agreed to Kirk. “Once the sun goes down, the temperature really drops up here.” He made a face, stretched aching shoulders. “Damn, you aren’t the only one who feels like you got worked over today – I feel like I’ve been skeet-shooting for hours.”

“C’mere,” Kirk urged, reaching a hand back to the doctor’s thin shoulders. McCoy turned his back and let Kirk start rubbing away the pain. Firmly Kirk squeezed and massaged almost hard enough to cause pain himself, but McCoy just moaned with relief.

“How does this feel?” Kirk inquired.

“Oh god don’t stop.” McCoy grinned, eyes closed. “Say, if you don’t already have a job, I think I could get you hired aboard the Enterprise and a physical therapist and masseur. How’s that sound?”

“Wonderful, but do you think Starfleet will go for it after all the money they’ve invested in me in command training?”

“Starfleet just isn’t aware of your hidden talents, that’s all.”

Kirk worked his neck, shoulders, fingertips pressing hard on either side of McCoy’s spine through the thin cotton shirt. “So, you like this, huh?”

“Just don’t stop.”

Axe in hand and an armful of wood, Spock climbed the three steps up to the porch.

“Spock,” Kirk said, still rubbing his doctor-friend’s muscles, “When you get out of the sho­wer, we’ll build that fire.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” the Vulcan admitted with as much eagerness as he could allow to show.

McCoy grinned at Spock's effusive enthusiasm, body rocking slightly beneath the manipula­ting fingers and palms. “Say,” he suggested to his masseur, voice softened, “would you like me to disappear for a little while? I’ll go take a half-hour stroll if you want.”

“No, no, that isn’t necessary,” Kirk insisted with a concluding pat to the shoulder. “C’mon, help me build the fire.” He followed the doctor into the cabin. “Listen if you want the bed tonight, Spock and I’ll sleep out here. One of us can take the couch and the other can sleep on the floor.”

McCoy contradicted. “Since when does half of a honeymoon couple end up sleeping on the floor? Besides, if you think you’re too old to put in a full day clearing brush and re-roofing, you’re sure in hell too old to sleep on the floor.”

Kirk grinned. “You’re probably right. Y’know, maybe instead of asking Spock and me up here, you should’ve requested some younger muscle like Chekov and Sulu.”

“Hey, even Chekov and Sulu aren’t as young as they used to be.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true, isn’t it? Just don’t let Starfleet hear you – they just might decided to re-classify the Enterprise from a heavy-cruiser to a floating old-folks’ home.”

“Yeah, but we can still out-fly and out-fight the rest of the fleet any day.”

“Sure – just as long as we don’t run out of our iron pills or laxatives.”

Spock had left several large chunks of wood beside the fireplace. McCoy put a few of them on the hearth while Kirk found a soft spot on the couch to settle down in. McCoy spread some kind­ling around the logs; Kirk poured himself another bourbon from the bottle on the redwood-burl coffee-table. A flick of a match, and the kindling burst into flame. With a poker, McCoy prodded the logs into a little better position, then stood the iron implement aside and stepped back to the over­stuffed chair near the couch.

Kirk gazed into the pleasant flames, felt any remaining tension flow from his body. The bourbon helped a lot too. To the side he could hear Spock in the shower. It would be even more pleasant when he could get that Vulcan of his into bed tonight, but for right now, the camaraderie of old friends around the hearth was more than welcome. Three long-time soul-mates. Twenty-eight years they’d lived and worked and laughed together, and fought together – and fought each other – and shared a lot of love together. Twenty-eight years – and there would come a time, perhaps in the not-too-distant future, when the triune would be whole no longer.

But tonight was not the time to dwell on such possibilities. There would be time enough after the fact.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A helpless moan sighed from Kirk’s lips. “Spock… oh, Captain… do you think this is very decorous conduct as befitting your rank?”  
> Vulcan lips molested a small rounded human ear. “It is difficult to maintain decorum when one’s commanding officer is also one’s bondmate, Admiral.”

Kirk raised his gaze from the snapping flames, and smiled at his doctor-friend. Relaxing in his chair, McCoy smiled back, and Kirk suspected that the doctor’s thoughts were not far from his own.

“So, how’s it going?” the medic probed not-too-subtly. “Seven weeks, isn’t it? How are you two getting along?”

Kirk grinned. “Seven weeks and five days,” he mused.

“Christ, you’re even beginning to talk like him now,” McCoy muttered, reaching for the bour­bon bottle.

Kirk leaned forward to hand it to him. “You know, it doesn’t feel like seven-and-a-half weeks. It feels like yesterday, it feels like forever. Still getting used to each other. Y’know, you’d think after living in close quarters for twenty-eight years, there wouldn’t be any more ‘getting used to’ to have to go through. I guess we’re still in the ‘honeymoon stage’.”

“No lovers’ quarrels yet, huh?”

“No… except that Spock insists I snore all night from the minute my head hits the pillow, which of course I don’t.”

“I got news for you, Cap’n – you snore. Cripes, that night on Alpha-508, you kept me awake three-fourths of the night.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Bones. It’s a wonder you could even hear – all that racket _you_ were making. Sounded like the warp engines out of sync.”

“Anyway, if that’s the only disagreement you two have had…”

“Well, that… and the fact that he hogs the blankets.”

“You do snore,” a husky Vulcan voice insisted from the bathroom doorway, as the tall figure stood there, towel cinched around slender waist, “and I appropriate the bed-covers only because you keep the room so cold.”

Kirk shrugged. “I like a little night breeze.”

McCoy cross his ankles on the burl table. “Oh dear me,” he sighed, “it looks like a started a domestic squabble.”

Spock strolled though the sitting room into the bedroom, to dress. “You did not start it, Doc­tor, however you were a catalyst this time.”

“Well, I’ve been called worse. And don’t worry – you’ll be warm enough tonight even if Jim does sleep with the window open.”

Kirk grinned. “Why, Doctor, that’s a rather personal comment now, don’t you think?”

“That’s not what I meant,” the doctor muttered, then added devilishly, “Besides, I would think he’d keep you both very warm at night, with that high metabolism of his. And tell me, Admiral, is it true what they say about hot Vulcan passion? Maybe I should do a little research on the subject.”

“You want to do research, go find your own Vulcan,” Kirk insisted. “Mine’s not for experi­mentation.”

Pushing himself up from the chair, McCoy hunkered down before the fireplace again, thrust the poker into the pile of logs once more. Flames crackled and snapped at the disturbance, then flared brighter as more air wafted between the logs. The doctor squatted down on the slat apron, poked around a little more. “So,” he questioned bluntly, “have you two decided how you’re going to break the new to ‘Fleet, or if you’re even going to tell them at all?”

Kirk watched the firelight flicker over his friend’s face. “We haven’t decided,” he admitted. “We have three months to discuss all the ramifications. For now we’re just going to enjoy ourselves. I think we deserve it.”

McCoy nodded silent agreement, backed up to plop down into his chair again.

Spock emerged from the bedroom, dressed now. Damp toweled hair no longer lay in military precision. He sat down on the couch beside Kirk, so close that their knees touched. Kirk smiled at him, a warm lover’s smile; and McCoy noted it with a smile of his own, but said nothing.

“Well, Captain,” Kirk grinned, playfully slapping Spock's knee, “so what’s on the agenda for tomorrow? You in the mood for a little fishing?”

Spock relaxed back in the comfortable sofa, such a change from his usual military bearing – and McCoy noted that too. “I thought we might treat the doctor tomorrow,” the tall man suggested. “I noted on the map that approximately thirteen-point-seven kilometers southwest from the cabin is a stream named McCoy Creek. Perhaps if the doctor is not already acquainted with it, he would enjoy visiting it. And you may bring the fishing equipment as well, Jim.”

“Sounds good to me,” McCoy chimed in. “I’ve noticed it on the map too, but Maggie and I have never gotten over there. In fact, there are a number of creeks and lakes and roads up here in Northern California named ‘McCoy’.”

Kirk took another refill of the bourbon. “What, when you and Maggie bought the lodge up here, did you buy the north quarter of the state as well?”

McCoy grinned. “Not exactly. But we knew where we’d be welcome.”

The three men lapsed into silence, each enjoying the quietude in their own way. So slow and calm and peaceful, and so different form the hustle-and-bustle of starship life. Some philosopher of the long-dead past had once noted: ‘True friendship exists when silence among hearts is comforta­ble.’ And Kirk reflected that he had probably never felt as comfortable around any other living beings as he did in the company of these two men.

Now Spock rested a hand on Kirk’s knee, as Kirk had touched earlier. Dark eyes watched so quietly, so directly, so gently. Suddenly an overwhelming need washed up inside Kirk, a demanding want to return the touch, return it with caresses, both light and heavy, to give in to their bodies’ de­mands. Through the link Kirk could sense Spock's sexual needs, mental needs; and now he wanted to get away alone with his mate, and unite once again.

A yawn sounded from McCoy’s chair. It obviously didn’t take a mental link for the doctor to pick up on their thoughts. Another yawn. “Well,” McCoy remarked lightly. “I guess this old body isn’t used to hard labor. I’m bushed. Think I’ll bed down for the night.”

“Bed? It’s only twenty-two hundred,” Kirk protested, not too convincingly.

McCoy ignored him. “Go on, get outta here. I’m sure you two have much better things to do than sit around swapping tales with me. Go on, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Kirk smiled as playfully seductive as he could at his spouse beside him. “Well, c’mon, Spock,” he urged. “It seems the good doctor is kicking us off the couch.”

“He does seem eager to be rid of us, doesn’t he?” Spock agreed.  
* * * * *

A feather bed. A real feather bed. And a thick heavy hand-quilted down comforter. No won­der McCoy had assured them that they’d both be warm tonight.

Enveloped en masse by wonder warm sensuosity, Kirk wondered where McCoy had managed to latch on to such an antique find. Their good old-fashioned country doctor certainly had some good old-fashioned country tastes. Kirk decided that he didn’t ever want to back to modern beds. Maybe he’d look for one for himself for the apartment, maybe as a present for Spock – maybe a wedding present? Spock had said that their bonding was like a marriage, so surely they should exchange gifts of some sort. Although Spock had already offered some pretty nice gifts of his own. Every night for the past seven-and-a-half weeks. In bed.

Kirk smiled into the darkness. His bondmate lay quietly beside him, one arm lying across Kirk’s middle, warm body cuddling close, warm breath feathering gently against his neck and shoul­der. Damn, if only McCoy wasn’t so close by. Spock's presence, and especially his touch always gave Kirk a hard-on, and he definitely had a good one right now.

Contentedly Kirk relaxed, arm gently across Spock's arm. He could smell the redwood scent of the log cabin, the lingering smokiness of the fireplace. So pleasant. Outside, the wind rustled the conifers, the aspens; beneath that, Kirk could hear the hissing splash of the creek nearby.

So very pleasant. He missed the Enterprise, but this vacation had been a long time in coming, and he certainly couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than in a mountain cabin with his two best friends – one of whom was now his spouse.

His spouse. James T. Kirk married – married and happy as pie. His smile transformed into a grin in the darkness. He’d never expected to get married someday, and certainly not to his first-officer, a dominant-male Vulcan.

The male Vulcan cuddling beside him shifted closer, kissed Kirk’s shoulder gently, followed through with a kiss to Kirk’s neck. Tingling sensation danced all over Kirk’s skin, and Kirk felt his testicles squirm in response.

“Spock,” Kirk murmured, “you awake?”

Spock's long-suffering inflection answered him. “Obviously I am awake, Admiral, unless I have been making love to you in my sleep.”

Warmth flooded Kirk’s skin. “Spock, my Vulcan lover, you can make love to me any time at all, awake or asleep.” He kissed the black silk of temple near his lips. ‘However, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me ‘Admiral’ when you do it.”

“Very well, sir, I shall refrain, if you insist.”

“And please don’t call me ‘sir’ either.”

Spock didn’t respond with words, but rather planted another kiss to the same spot on Kirk’s neck – sucked it and nipped it until Kirk knew that he’d have a little tell-tale mark come morning. The Vulcan found another little place to concentrate on within an inch of the first. “Does it concern you to be reminded of your rank when you’re off-duty?”

Kirk’s warmth was increasing into heat, flowing into his groin. God, if this kept up, Spock was going to end up with a sex-crazed superior-officer on his hands – or in his body. The human kissed one upswept ear. “I don’t mind being reminded of my rank, but I don’t feel much like an admiral when I’m naked in bed with you between my legs.”

“I am not between your legs, Jim,” Spock corrected, ever the stickler for precision, “however, that can be rectified quickly.” And very efficiently (for Vulcan’s are renowned for their efficiency) he rolled over on top of Kirk, kneed the human’s legs apart, then settled down, and pulled the sheet and comforter back up over their shoulders. He kissed Kirk’s mouth, then returned his interest to the soft tender skin of Kirk’s throat.

A helpless moan sighed from Kirk’s lips, and involuntarily his loins thrust up against the hard swollen penis prodding against his own erect organ. Spock’s hand reached down to fondle the sensi­tive flesh of both of them.

Another groan as Kirk’s hips pushed up to slide his penis into a warm slightly-moist palm. “Spock… oh, Captain… do you think this is very decorous conduct as befitting your rank?”

The fondling hand continued to stroke, Vulcan lips molested a small rounded human ear. “It is difficult to maintain decorum when one’s commanding officer is also one’s bondmate, Admiral.” Slowly, erotically, very skillfully, Spock's fingers milked Kirk’s prick, amid Kirk’s panting gasps and helpless squirmings, then stroked warm human testicles while human eyes squeezed shut in exquisite pleasure. Then sliding further down, two fingers rubbed up and down gluteal cleavage.

Kirk squirmed. “Spock!” he gasped, practically choking on suppressed laughter. “oh god don’t, Spock!”

Spock ignored his protests, presumptively touched a finger to a tender anus.

“No! no, Spock!” the human hissed, writhing beneath Vulcan weight, “if you do that, I’m gonna come!”

“I have noted that that is the usual outcome of such stimulation,” Spock agreed, then went ahead and pushed his finger into the moist warmth of Kirk’s rectum anyway.

“Spock!” Kirk cried out involuntarily, body jerking. The finger rubbed him inside, and he couldn’t help his body’s responsive wrigglings, ramming up hard, rhythmically against Spock's belly, panting desperately, skin sweat-spangled, while Spock prodded and massaged him inside, until he just lost all control and semen spurted out of him convulsively and tingly orgasm shivered all through his muscles.

Tightly Spock gripped him and rode his climax all the way until finally Kirk lay limp beneath, chest heaving for breath. Semen smeared wetly between their bodies.

“Spock,” Kirk gasped again, weakly, “Spock… we’re going to wake up the doc if we keep this up, and he’s going to know what we’re doing.”

“So?” Spock retorted. “Doctor McCoy is already fully cognizant of the sexual functioning of mature adult males. What are you attempting to hide from him?”

Kirk grinned drowsily. “So much for Vulcan reticence, eh, Spock?”

Spock merely shrugged.

From the living room came a grumpy retort: “Yeah, the doc is awake, and he can hear every­thing, so keep it down, will ya?”

“Oh shit,” Kirk winced and muttered to himself, then called back, “The doc doesn’t have to listen quite so eagerly. And anyway, whoever heard of going on a honeymoon with a chaperone?”

“Yeah, well, after working all day, I didn’t expect you guys to have so much energy left for such lascivious behavior.”

“Lascivious behavior my ass, you’re enjoying every minute of it, you pervert… Spock!” Kirk interrupted himself when his Vulcan bed-partner attempted to kiss him on the mouth. “Spock, don’t! – I’m trying to converse with the doctor… Spock!”

Spock pinned his wrists back over his head on the thick down pillow, then kissed him again. “No, Jim,” the Vulcan refused. “You may converse with the doctor later. Right now I claim priority. Good night, Doctor McCoy.”

“Hey, you two aren’t gonna assault my virgin ears some more, are you?”

Kirk called back reassurance. “Yours aren’t the virgin ears I intend to assault, Bones. Good night.”

“Admiral, my ears are no longer virgin,” Spock reminded his bed-mate.

Kirk just shrugged, then rolled them both over. Then with Spock beneath, he kissed one exo­tic ear-tip. “So, I exaggerated – although they’re just as exciting as when they were virgin.” His tongue delved wetly into the hollow, making Spock wince and squirm. Kirk reached down both hands to hold Spock's head still, tongued all along the upswept edge of a pointed ear. “In fact,” he murmured in all honeyed sweetness, “I think they’re even more exciting now… because I know exac­tly what drives you crazy.” And saying so, he tongue-dived right against the aural opening, worked there, while Spock yanked to get away.

“Jim!” he protested, voice rising above a whisper.

“Shh,” Kirk murmured right against the Vulcan ear, fingers firmly twisted in grey-flecked black silk. “McCoy’s gonna hear you.”

“You’ve already shown that obviously you don’t care whether he hears or not,” Spock retor­ted. “So please don’t pretend now that you do.”

“Well, all right then,” Kirk acquiesced easily, releasing Spock's hair and lying down beside him, “let’s finish what you started. C’mere, you hot Vulcan.”

Spock slid an arm and a leg over the human facing him. “I am a very cold Vulcan when you sleep with the window open.”

“Mm,” Kirk purred contentedly. “Maybe, but you’re always hot where it counts.” And just in case his profound subtlety was missed, Kirk slid groping fingers down between Spock's legs.

Spock moaned his pleasure, drew one knee up to allow Kirk deeper access. The fingers groped further, pushed between firm buttocks, when a warm human mouth kissed even warmer Vul­can lips. Eager arms hugged, hands stroked. Spock reached to take the limp human penis in a fond­ling grasp, while his tongue probed Kirk’s mouth.

“Spock…” Kirk gasped away from the kiss, lips smiling, groin pushing closer to take advan­tage of the stroking fingers. “You’re wasting your time, Mister, I just came a couple of minutes ago, and there’s nothing left for the time being.”

“I realize that,” a raspy voice answered close to a small human ear. Strong fingers slid be­tween their bellies, smeared the left-over sticky semen around, slid up and down the flaccid organ, then drew out from beneath the covers to smear the fluid on Kirk’s lips. Sensually Kirk opened his mouth, and Spock slipped wet fingers in, roamed his touch over strong teeth, hungry licking tongue. Hazel eyes watched the Vulcan face so close, lips closed to suck long fingers, then parted to kiss the wet palm.

“Perhaps you have already reached fulfillment,” the deep voice murmured, “but I have not.”

“Mm,” the admiral purred, “you will soon.” Again he stroked between his lover’s thighs. Spock moaned contentedly. Kirk licked down the side of his face, down sleek throat muscle. “Come here, Vulcan.”

Another moan. “I am as close as possible, Admiral. It is unnecessary to ask me to ‘come here’,”

“Mm mm,” Kirk contradicted, rubbing fingers in his own semen, then pushing a wet digit into his friend’s rectum, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from his usually-staid friend, “you’re not nearly as close as you could be… you could be inside me… And _please_ stop calling me ‘Admiral’, Captain.”

Spock panted sharply as Kirk manipulated a second finger inside him, face tight with plea­sure. The fingers rubbed all around inside him, stimulating the tender flesh relentlessly. “Yes,” he gasped, choking back a laugh, “yes, yes, oh Jim… please help me…!” Desperately he squirmed, reaching down to grip his own swelling organ. “… Jim, help!…”

“I am helping you,” Kirk assured, continuing the intense stimulation of anus and rectum and internal sexual organs. His other hand pushed away Spock’s manipulating hand, while his lips and teeth found a soft nipple to tease erect. “I’m helping you just like you helped me – to come all over the bed… unless you want to go ahead and stick it in me.”

Breath catching sharply. “Jim… I want to put it in you…”

Wet tongue worried sensitive nipple. “Then take me, partner.”

Spock could hardly control his breathing. His penis thrust out, engorged with blood, leaking pre-ejaculate. Again he reached for himself, smeared his fluid, Kirk’s fluid, all over his glans, all over his shaft, then pushed fingers into Kirk’s opening once more.

“… oh god Spock…” Kirk gasped, “… that feels so good… don’t stop… so damn good…”

But Spock pulled the fingers out anyway, then climbed on top of Kirk again. “Something else will feel even better,” he promised. The penile head pressed against a tender anus.

“… Yes, Spock… oh god yes…” And Kirk pushed back to meet Spock's thrust, impale him­self on the hard shaft. Pain, cramps, burning, and ecstatic pleasure. Little by little the organ intruded deeper, repeatedly stimulating the rectal membrane. Kirk gave himself to the sensations, both painful and pleasurable. Breath gasped arrhythmically. He could hardly wait for his body to recover from his first orgasm so he could reciprocate the pleasure.

Spock rose to his knees, drawing Kirk’s hips with him. The quilt slipped from their bodies; in their heat, neither man noticed it. Again and again Spock slammed into the slick tunnel, gasping, grun­ting with exertion, hands clutching Kirk’s sweaty hips. Kirk grunted with him, the heavy feeling of fullness in his rectum, the electric jabs of ecstasy from his anal nerves.

“Spock!” he gasped with the Vulcan’s exertion, “… oh god, Spock… oh!” A sharp cry as Spock's open hand smacked stingingly , erotically across his right buttock. The pain flashed sensa­tion into Kirk’s testicles – god it felt good. Another hot slap, Kirk winced, then another, and another. Kirk jerked with each erotic blow. “Spock…” he managed again, body rocking sharply with each power-thrust of Spock's hips. Tingling sensation needled through his penis, the helpless organ twitched involuntarily. Kirk was no longer a young man; if he were, he was sure he’d be manifesting a prize-winning second erection of the night.

Spock's rhythm heightened, breath hard and desperate, body slamming hard against tender human flesh, hard… hard… breath rasping… hard…

Orgasm exploded, hot Vulcan seed pumped into moist rectum, pumped and pumped, skin sweating, muscles trembling, voice groaning, grunting.

Kirk felt the viscid fluid fill him, half-a-dozen hard bursts up inside him. Then Spock, with a final groan, collapsed over him, and Kirk sprawled back down on the bed.

They lay like that for a long time, slept a little, disengaged, slept a little more.

“Spock,” Kirk murmured into the darkness.

“… mm…” Spock responded sleepily from behind, squeezing Kirk gently, warm breath on Kirk’s shoulder-blades.

Kirk twisted over to face his bed-partner. Spock pressed warm lips against Kirk’s throat. Kirk smiled to himself, aimlessly stroked black silk hair. “Y’know,” he commented quietly, “I’d like to give you something. Now that we’re… married… I’d like to give you some kind of gift, some kind of token.”

“I have thought the same thing,” Spock replied. “Although you give yourself to me – there is no greater gift to offer.”

“Thanks, Spock.” Kirk’s hands stroked down the lithe body. “You know you mean more to me than anything else, as well. I just wanted to express that somehow. I can’t give you something as obvious as a wedding band, but I’d be honored if you’d accept my Academy ring in lieu.” And slip­ping the gold ring embossed with the Starfleet symbol from the little finger of his left hand, Kirk held it between them, visible in the wash of moonlight through the window. “Will you take this Spock, as a token of our bond?”

Spock's hand closed over Kirk’s fingers holding the ring. “Yes,” he acknowledged, “if you will accept a gift from me as well. Now that we are bonded, we are of like mind. Open the drawer of the nightstand beside you, please, and take out the box.”

Kirk did so, removed a tiny cloth-covered box, and opened it. Inside sat a man’s gold ring. He took it out held it up close in the moonlight. A heavy ring set with a clear green stone like emer­ald flecked inside with bits of metal.

“A kr’dlth stone,” Spock explained. “It belonged to my paternal grandfather. Father gave it to me – I should like to give it to you now. I would be honored if you wore it, t'hy'la.” Spock slipped it onto Kirk’s finger to replace the Academy ring, then allowed K irk to reciprocate, sliding the class ring onto Spock's little finger.

“Thank you, t'hy'la,” Kirk whispered.

They kissed, long and deep, gently, sleepily, until Kirk finally broke it, then wandered a few more light touches up the side of Spock's face, touched soft lips to the corner of his eye.

Spock gathered him close. “Jim,” he murmured, “I suggest we go to sleep now, so that we can entertain Doctor McCoy tomorrow on our fishing trip.”

Kirk grinned against Spock's cheek. “I like the fishing I’m doing right now.”

Spock deliberately ignored him, voice deep and drowsy. “Good night, Jim.”

“If you insist, Spock.” And happily Kirk settled down in his bondmate’s arms, and pulled the quilt back over them. McCoy had been right: they were very warm tonight.

* * * * * **FINIS** * * * * *


End file.
